My words flow freely on the black screen when I write for myself in my journal, or for a school requirement I know will be contained in the safety of a Google Classroom submission bin. I've been thinking about infusing more creativity into my life, and writing is my go-to medium to do just that. Yet I feel so much resistance to writing in public right now. It's the equivalent of the mental block that comes with stage fright, I think.
In tenth grade, I was the head of the actors department for my school theater club. I had only been acting for a little over a year then, but was a shoo-in for the role with my relative seniority and passion for the art.
I remember my very first meeting with my members at the start of the school year. The club president had to excuse herself to take care of another task, assuring me I could handle leading the actors.
I was paralyzed. How could I, a shy introvert with subpar voice projection, handle a group of theater kids with larger-than-life personalities? (In hindsight, I'm amused that the nature of my responsibilities as actors head only hit me in that moment.)
My eyes begged her not to leave, but soon I was the only officer around. I shook off my nerves and brought my attention back to what I needed to do: help the members warm up to being onstage. A few icebreakers later, the auditorium was filled with laughter from our silly improvisations and acting games. Bit by bit, I found ease in my role as a leader.
I look back fondly on those days, as theater taught me to pursue the creative process with a playful, open spirit. I realized I didn't have to be the most technically proficient actor in the room to help someone connect to a character or become a more confident performer. Everyone in the club was learning at their own pace — I was simply their companion and guide.
Writing is now what theater was to me in high school. It's my practice of tuning into my inner voice and becoming a little braver about sending it out into the world, just like I did that day in the auditorium.
Now that my school year is over, I've found myself consuming piece after piece from my favorite writers. Their words were medicinal as I sorted my jumbled feelings throughout the last semester, nourishing me into experiencing life more fully. But when I wonder if I, too, could possibly move others with my perspectives, impostor syndrome kicks in. Why try to write about my life, when I can just echo lines others wrote that deeply resonate with me? Lines that are obviously more articulate, succinct, evocative than mine? Anyway, who am I to impart any wisdom in the first place?
Frankly, I don't have good answers to those questions, so the most I can do is bring those fears along with me for the ride. All I know is that I write because the act itself feels true. Because I enjoy fucking around with this medium and seeing how it changes me.
Words hold magic and power, shaping the stories we tell about ourselves and others. I write to craft more beautiful stories, and with them, more beautiful futures. I write to bring the unimaginable close enough to touch, to caress, to take in. I write to find solace in this perplexing world and make sanctuary for others too.
I am experimenting with ending these mini-essays with a few provocations as I explore what it means to live a more creative life. If anything I write resonates, I'd love to hear from you.
What is your favorite medium to channel creativity?
What do you feel called to create?
Now, sit down to create the thing™️. Do you feel any resistance?
What do your worries tell you about what matters to you?
How can you shift your attention to the joy of creation?
Can you make this a labor of love?
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